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2023-01-30 17:25:44 -07:00 · 2023-01-30 17:25:44 -07:00 · 2c55ae7a74
parent a4f450d237
commit 2c55ae7a74
6 changed files with 1133 additions and 260 deletions
--- a/basement.order
+++ b/basement.order
@ -25,6 +25,7 @@ src/epistolary/00054.md
 src/epistolary/00055.md
 src/epistolary/00056.md
 src/epistolary/00057.md
 src/epistolary/00058.md
 src/bestiary/index.md
 src/bestiary/aetherwael.md
 src/bestiary/aur.md
--- a/src/epistolary/00058.md
+++ b/src/epistolary/00058.md
@ -0,0 +1,246 @@
 ---
 title: 00058
 created: Sat, 21 Jan 2023 16:24:45 -0700
 updated: Sun, 29 Jan 2023 11:02:32 -0700
 public: yes
 syndicated: yes
 ---
 ### 00058 {#00058}
 > *(A week prior)*
 > 
 > The secretary collected the stack of papers that had accumulated at
 > one corner of the desk. "This might help," she said, setting down a
 > bundle of herbs with white and pink flowers in place of the papers.
 > 
 > Inky stared at the blooms, hands stilled over the owl's plumage.
 > "Oh! Thanks. Good thinking, really. It'll help make the stench more
 > bearable when they find the remains."
 > 
 > The grey elf was confused for a moment, then mortified as the words
 > sank in. "That's not what I meant! It's for the circle," she
 > clarified.
 > 
 > Seeing the imp's preoccupied nod, she coughed lightly to regain
 > their attention, then spoke in a hushed voice. "Beaker's associates
 > have picked up the empanada shop proprietor and transported him to
 > an undisclosed location. There will be a retinue with him at all
 > times."
 > 
 > Inky seemed to visibly pull themselves back to the room before
 > responding, "Thank you, Salvia. One more thing — if I do not return
 > by the indicated time, please activate the hitsuzen protocol. As
 > precaution."
 > 
 > The secretary looked at Inky in concern. "Is everything all right?
 > If you're still troubled by the hotelier, accidents happen. A
 > single incident—"
 > 
 > "Third. An unidentified man was attacked at the docks. He was
 > probably sent to investigate the melon vendor. One of the other
 > stall owners heard him asking questions shortly after the melon
 > vendor disappeared."
 > 
 > Salvia's violet eyes narrowed. "What, the fruit vendor? Didn't the
 > tabloids say it was an accident? He tried to get rid of a
 > neighbor's nest of snakes."
 > 
 > Inky only raised an eyebrow at her.
 > 
 > The secretary let out a low curse. "You didn't tell her. You didn't
 > want her to worry," she said aloud in realization. She sighed.
 > "She's going to be pretty angry with you when she finds out, you
 > know."
 > 
 > Inky offered her a sardonic smile. "Making people angry is my job.
 > You of all people know this well. In the event of my timely demise
 > I'm sure the others would find it cause for a grand celebration."
 > They replied matter-of-factly before returning to smoothing the
 > feathers of one bird wing.
 > 
 > Salvia shook her head vehemently. "That's not true. You'll make it
 > back, Ink. What then—"
 > 
 > "Then our fair Lady's ire would be the least of the problems."
 ~
 > Alex stared morosely into his cup of coffee. He'd received word of
 > agent 5's demise that morning, and had been the only thing on his
 > mind since. 5, no Be'tram knew the risks, we all knew the risks
 > defying HQ brought, but to happen so suddenly? He'd snuck down to
 > the wharf once he'd heard, making sure to cover his tracks and
 > dodge any potential witnesses. He even managed to slip past the
 > police cordon they'd setup around the body. What he'd found wasn't
 > pretty, it looked like Be'Tram had suffered in his final moments.
 > The bruising around his neck pointed to strangulation, with some
 > sort of cloth, perhaps a rope. The bruising was deep, and there
 > wasn't a cut, burn, shot or something of the likes on his
 > otherwise.
 > 
 > The kill had been intimate.
 > 
 > Alex had worked quickly that night, popping Be'Tram's eye had been
 > hard, but he'd of wanted Alex to have it. Behind his right eye was
 > a recording device, it could only catch the last 15m or so of what
 > he had seen, but it would give him a clear look at what had
 > happened. And potentially lead Alex to the killer. Miserable
 > business, but Be'Tram knew it could make a difference.
 > 
 > Alex had planted a bomb on the body after he had extracted the eye,
 > and made his way well away from the area before it went off
 > obliterating the remains. A regrettable end for an old friend, but it
 > was too dangerous to leave.
 > 
 > And then there was the matter of the zabbix alert, a little purple
 > red critical for the sewer hideout. He'd had time to send out a
 > drone beetle. The smoldering slag that was left was reassuring.
 > Most of the equipment was utterly destroyed, racks upon racks of
 > servers reduced to twisted melted metal. The effectively of the
 > destruction was delightful, in a sick sort of desperate way. Alex
 > felt assured that most if not all of the equipment was useless, but
 > this spelled the end of a valuable listening outpost. And whoever
 > had done it wasn't part of the slag pile.
 > 
 > Alex stood up, his coffee untouched. The cafe around his burbled in
 > quiet excitement. The city had lit up since the Melon vendor's
 > death. A thousand rumors abounded about it, but none of them held
 > true; some said the city had become dangerous, a crime syndicate
 > had arisen in the neighboring city block another thought, and did
 > you hear about the explosion at the wharf the other night, the city
 > was electric, yet somehow ever so slightly off the pulse of the
 > issue.
 > 
 > As Alex stepped away a woman with horn rimmed glasses strode past
 > the table he had just abandoned, deftly pulling the note from
 > beneath the coffee cup, left for her.
 > 
 > ```
 > 4 -> 3
 > Daylight breaks on the morrow
 > The suns rays make chase
 > casting soft cloth
 > across the nap of nature's neck
 > 
 > So, night relents and gives way
 > biding time until
 > it can rule
 > in its own domain
 > ```
 > 
 > For the passerby, it was but a bit of poetry, scribbled carelessly
 > on the back of a napkin in a coffee near the wharf. But for Agent 3
 > it was a warning, one part notes on Agent 5s demise recovered from
 > his eyecam, one part orders; stay low and we'll strike these
 > bastards from the shadows, on our terms, on our ground. Similar
 > missives were delivered to Agents 6 & 7. The numbers were
 > dwindling rapidly, even just one agent lost was hard to stomach.
 > 
 > Alex hand gripped the pistol in his coat pocket with a white
 > knuckled grip as he stepped from the coffee shop into the city.
 > Whatever was after him, whatever had gotten to Be'Tram, it had
 > better know he was coming, and he'd happily send it straight to
 > hell. HQ be damned, the rules be damned, this little game of cat
 > and mouse had just gotten personal.
 ~
 > Alex, Inky, Confidence, Bread, and Agent 7 find themselves in a
 > dark backroom in a secluded corner of an old fish processing plant
 > on the wharf. The accommodations are rough, and the stench is
 > abhorrent, but it's the best that could be procured in a pinch. And
 > it should provide enough seclusion.
 > 
 > The backroom is like that of many factories, high up near the
 > ceiling, a single rusty rickety staircase winds its way along the
 > side of the building for what seems to be 3 flights, before it
 > reaches a metal room with dusty grimy windows, and a single
 > steel door. The windows on the interior overlook the fish
 > processing plant, where rows of belts and machinery stand still,
 > covered in dust and long forgotten blood. You're glad to know that
 > the factory stopped operating years ago, hygiene is lacking in every
 > sense.
 > 
 > Alex stares forlornly out the exterior windows, the sky is a grey
 > overcast, it matches his mood perfectly. He didn't like what him
 > and Inky were about to do, but they didn't have much they could do
 > about it. They would be vulnerable for the duration of the ritual.
 > But Agent 7 and Confidence were there to help mitigate that risk.
 > Alex and Agent 7 had taken every precaution they could think of.
 > 
 > The plant floor was scattered with booby traps, trip wires, and
 > alarms. The other agents were laying low, but kept drones around
 > the wharf feeding in a network of twtxt data back to Agent 7 for
 > recon. And that was on top of the double barred steel doors, and
 > reinforced glass box they'd chosen as their hide out. Meticulously
 > planned, Alex expected no less from Agent 7.
 > 
 > See Marvelo had been at this as long as Alex had, and then some. He
 > was sharp as a tack, with an animal-like third sense that came from
 > years of close calls. He was, simply put, the right man for the
 > job, when that job was keeping your unconscious ass alive.
 > 
 > Alex turns away from the window and addresses Inky. "Apologies for
 > the smell, it turns out there's a strong correlation between
 > disgust and seclusion, but I believe we should at least be safe
 > here. Safer than we would have been back home. I'm ready if you
 > are, as ready as I'll ever be that is." 
 The Golden Iris have summoned you to appear at the Harpoon Club this
 evening. But the Harpoon Club is nowhere to be found on this plane of
 existence. It won't appear until a week and a half from now, on the
 last day of the month.
 Confidence the Guide has predicted exactly where the Wandering Bazaar
 will be on that day. With a small bucket of red paint and a large
 brush, he has drawn a Linking Sigil on the ground at the location. He
 sits nearby, making sure careless passersby and mischievous kids
 don't disturb it, but otherwise letting the sigil absorb the energies
 of the bustle of shopping and commerce.
 At the fish market, Marvelo is posted outside. He keeps vigilant
 watch, alert to every movement and disturbance.
 And inside, Bread, Inky, Fuko, and Alex are huddled up in the office
 in the back near the ceiling. They all sit inside a dark circle that
 has been smudged on the floor with a paste made of ash and salt.
 Painted on the ground is a second Linking Sigil, connecting this spot
 to Confidence's, allowing the energies of the two locations to
 co-mingle. There is also the Dream Sigil, which will connect this
 place to the Dreaming.
 Bread the Host is propped up on some pillows and cushions in the
 center of the circle, next to the Nyxmaer. The candle is alleged to
 be made of the flesh and fat of a certain nightmare. Its hand and eye
 bound in the wax. The Dream Sigil is the door, but the Nyxmaer is the
 key. The catalyst that will cause all of the otherwise inert
 metaphysical particles to become volatile and reactive. It is what
 will allow you to actually pass over and arrive on the shores of the
 Sea of Dreams.
 Per the shop witch's instructions, the Nyxmaer has been placed on a
 thin, hard tin plate. As the candle burns, the wax will soften and
 eventually allow the large metal nail in its side to fall. When it
 strikes the plate, you will awaken, exiting the Dreaming. You expect
 hours may pass in the realm of sleep. But only about thirty minutes
 will pass here.
 Inky and Alex sit inside the circle, near the perimeter, facing Bread
 in the center. Fuko the owl sits at Inky's side.
 It is dim. You are illuminated by mundane, non-magical candles set
 around the edges of the circle. Outside, a steady rain beats on the
 roof and the windows of the building. The smell of fish is faint but
 ever-present. A constant reminder of the small creatures that have
 left their bodies in a fashion far more permanent and irreversible
 than the separation of spirit and body you are about to experience.
 You hope.
 WHAT DO YOU DO
 - How do you induce a deep and powerful slumber in Bread?
 - What shape or form will you take when you arrive in the Dreaming?
 - What are you secretly worried or hopeful about being exposed in the
  dreamland, the realm of metaphor?
--- a/src/notes.md
+++ b/src/notes.md
@ -9,7 +9,8 @@ updated: Sun, 27 Nov 2022 02:24:11 -0700
 <summary>SPOILERS!!</summary>
 **THREADS**
- scissormen, huskies, dreamforms, gliftwirp the warpwefter
+- kasutva, noodle head
 - scissormen, huskies, dreamforms, gliftwirp the warpwefter, Ephermeris
 - Lady in Red ??? Tess, Piskin, Salvia ; Beaker (and Cio) trailing the BANDits?
 - Benefactor wants Crystals to kill a god
 - Golden Iris wants Crystals to make a new god
--- a/www/index.html
+++ b/www/index.html
@ -318,6 +318,7 @@ Master</a></li>
 <li><a href="#00055" id="toc-00055">00055</a></li>
 <li><a href="#00056" id="toc-00056">00056</a></li>
 <li><a href="#00057" id="toc-00057">00057</a></li>
 <li><a href="#00058" id="toc-00058">00058</a></li>
 </ul></li>
 <li><a href="#bestiary" id="toc-bestiary">Bestiary</a></li>
 <li><a href="#geography" id="toc-geography">Geography</a></li>
@ -354,11 +355,11 @@ Teale</a></li>
 </ul>
 </nav>
 <h2 id="stats">Stats</h2>
-<p>Total length: 75661 words / 323 minute read. (Mind you, that’s the
+<p>Total length: 77599 words / 331 minute read. (Mind you, that’s the
 length of this entire page, including all the extra bits and bobs. Not
 just the story.)</p>
-<p>There have been 202 messages posted over 192 days since the first
+<p>There have been 206 messages posted over 200 days since the first
-post on July 13, 2022 for a daily post rate of 1.05.</p>
+post on July 13, 2022 for a daily post rate of 1.03.</p>
 <h2 id="about">About</h2>
 <p>This is a game that me and the kids in the basement are playing over
 email.</p>
@ -6836,6 +6837,202 @@ squinting into the fire. “Let’s see what we can salvage here.”</p>
 <li>The time of the ritual is at hand.</li>
 <li>What final preparations do you make before entering Dreamspace?</li>
 </ul>
 <h3 id="00058">00058</h3>
 <blockquote>
 <p><em>(A week prior)</em></p>
 <p>The secretary collected the stack of papers that had accumulated at
 one corner of the desk. “This might help,” she said, setting down a
 bundle of herbs with white and pink flowers in place of the papers.</p>
 <p>Inky stared at the blooms, hands stilled over the owl’s plumage. “Oh!
 Thanks. Good thinking, really. It’ll help make the stench more bearable
 when they find the remains.”</p>
 <p>The grey elf was confused for a moment, then mortified as the words
 sank in. “That’s not what I meant! It’s for the circle,” she
 clarified.</p>
 <p>Seeing the imp’s preoccupied nod, she coughed lightly to regain their
 attention, then spoke in a hushed voice. “Beaker’s associates have
 picked up the empanada shop proprietor and transported him to an
 undisclosed location. There will be a retinue with him at all
 times.”</p>
 <p>Inky seemed to visibly pull themselves back to the room before
 responding, “Thank you, Salvia. One more thing — if I do not return by
 the indicated time, please activate the hitsuzen protocol. As
 precaution.”</p>
 <p>The secretary looked at Inky in concern. “Is everything all right? If
 you’re still troubled by the hotelier, accidents happen. A single
 incident—”</p>
 <p>“Third. An unidentified man was attacked at the docks. He was
 probably sent to investigate the melon vendor. One of the other stall
 owners heard him asking questions shortly after the melon vendor
 disappeared.”</p>
 <p>Salvia’s violet eyes narrowed. “What, the fruit vendor? Didn’t the
 tabloids say it was an accident? He tried to get rid of a neighbor’s
 nest of snakes.”</p>
 <p>Inky only raised an eyebrow at her.</p>
 <p>The secretary let out a low curse. “You didn’t tell her. You didn’t
 want her to worry,” she said aloud in realization. She sighed. “She’s
 going to be pretty angry with you when she finds out, you know.”</p>
 <p>Inky offered her a sardonic smile. “Making people angry is my job.
 You of all people know this well. In the event of my timely demise I’m
 sure the others would find it cause for a grand celebration.” They
 replied matter-of-factly before returning to smoothing the feathers of
 one bird wing.</p>
 <p>Salvia shook her head vehemently. “That’s not true. You’ll make it
 back, Ink. What then—”</p>
 <p>“Then our fair Lady’s ire would be the least of the problems.”</p>
 </blockquote>
 <p>~</p>
 <blockquote>
 <p>Alex stared morosely into his cup of coffee. He’d received word of
 agent 5’s demise that morning, and had been the only thing on his mind
 since. 5, no Be’tram knew the risks, we all knew the risks defying HQ
 brought, but to happen so suddenly? He’d snuck down to the wharf once
 he’d heard, making sure to cover his tracks and dodge any potential
 witnesses. He even managed to slip past the police cordon they’d setup
 around the body. What he’d found wasn’t pretty, it looked like Be’Tram
 had suffered in his final moments. The bruising around his neck pointed
 to strangulation, with some sort of cloth, perhaps a rope. The bruising
 was deep, and there wasn’t a cut, burn, shot or something of the likes
 on his otherwise.</p>
 <p>The kill had been intimate.</p>
 <p>Alex had worked quickly that night, popping Be’Tram’s eye had been
 hard, but he’d of wanted Alex to have it. Behind his right eye was a
 recording device, it could only catch the last 15m or so of what he had
 seen, but it would give him a clear look at what had happened. And
 potentially lead Alex to the killer. Miserable business, but Be’Tram
 knew it could make a difference.</p>
 <p>Alex had planted a bomb on the body after he had extracted the eye,
 and made his way well away from the area before it went off obliterating
 the remains. A regrettable end for an old friend, but it was too
 dangerous to leave.</p>
 <p>And then there was the matter of the zabbix alert, a little purple
 red critical for the sewer hideout. He’d had time to send out a drone
 beetle. The smoldering slag that was left was reassuring. Most of the
 equipment was utterly destroyed, racks upon racks of servers reduced to
 twisted melted metal. The effectively of the destruction was delightful,
 in a sick sort of desperate way. Alex felt assured that most if not all
 of the equipment was useless, but this spelled the end of a valuable
 listening outpost. And whoever had done it wasn’t part of the slag
 pile.</p>
 <p>Alex stood up, his coffee untouched. The cafe around his burbled in
 quiet excitement. The city had lit up since the Melon vendor’s death. A
 thousand rumors abounded about it, but none of them held true; some said
 the city had become dangerous, a crime syndicate had arisen in the
 neighboring city block another thought, and did you hear about the
 explosion at the wharf the other night, the city was electric, yet
 somehow ever so slightly off the pulse of the issue.</p>
 <p>As Alex stepped away a woman with horn rimmed glasses strode past the
 table he had just abandoned, deftly pulling the note from beneath the
 coffee cup, left for her.</p>
 <pre><code>4 -&gt; 3
 Daylight breaks on the morrow
 The suns rays make chase
 casting soft cloth
 across the nap of nature&#39;s neck
 So, night relents and gives way
 biding time until
 it can rule
 in its own domain</code></pre>
 <p>For the passerby, it was but a bit of poetry, scribbled carelessly on
 the back of a napkin in a coffee near the wharf. But for Agent 3 it was
 a warning, one part notes on Agent 5s demise recovered from his eyecam,
 one part orders; stay low and we’ll strike these bastards from the
 shadows, on our terms, on our ground. Similar missives were delivered to
 Agents 6 &amp; 7. The numbers were dwindling rapidly, even just one
 agent lost was hard to stomach.</p>
 <p>Alex hand gripped the pistol in his coat pocket with a white knuckled
 grip as he stepped from the coffee shop into the city. Whatever was
 after him, whatever had gotten to Be’Tram, it had better know he was
 coming, and he’d happily send it straight to hell. HQ be damned, the
 rules be damned, this little game of cat and mouse had just gotten
 personal.</p>
 </blockquote>
 <p>~</p>
 <blockquote>
 <p>Alex, Inky, Confidence, Bread, and Agent 7 find themselves in a dark
 backroom in a secluded corner of an old fish processing plant on the
 wharf. The accommodations are rough, and the stench is abhorrent, but
 it’s the best that could be procured in a pinch. And it should provide
 enough seclusion.</p>
 <p>The backroom is like that of many factories, high up near the
 ceiling, a single rusty rickety staircase winds its way along the side
 of the building for what seems to be 3 flights, before it reaches a
 metal room with dusty grimy windows, and a single steel door. The
 windows on the interior overlook the fish processing plant, where rows
 of belts and machinery stand still, covered in dust and long forgotten
 blood. You’re glad to know that the factory stopped operating years ago,
 hygiene is lacking in every sense.</p>
 <p>Alex stares forlornly out the exterior windows, the sky is a grey
 overcast, it matches his mood perfectly. He didn’t like what him and
 Inky were about to do, but they didn’t have much they could do about it.
 They would be vulnerable for the duration of the ritual. But Agent 7 and
 Confidence were there to help mitigate that risk. Alex and Agent 7 had
 taken every precaution they could think of.</p>
 <p>The plant floor was scattered with booby traps, trip wires, and
 alarms. The other agents were laying low, but kept drones around the
 wharf feeding in a network of twtxt data back to Agent 7 for recon. And
 that was on top of the double barred steel doors, and reinforced glass
 box they’d chosen as their hide out. Meticulously planned, Alex expected
 no less from Agent 7.</p>
 <p>See Marvelo had been at this as long as Alex had, and then some. He
 was sharp as a tack, with an animal-like third sense that came from
 years of close calls. He was, simply put, the right man for the job,
 when that job was keeping your unconscious ass alive.</p>
 <p>Alex turns away from the window and addresses Inky. “Apologies for
 the smell, it turns out there’s a strong correlation between disgust and
 seclusion, but I believe we should at least be safe here. Safer than we
 would have been back home. I’m ready if you are, as ready as I’ll ever
 be that is.”</p>
 </blockquote>
 <p>The Golden Iris have summoned you to appear at the Harpoon Club this
 evening. But the Harpoon Club is nowhere to be found on this plane of
 existence. It won’t appear until a week and a half from now, on the last
 day of the month.</p>
 <p>Confidence the Guide has predicted exactly where the Wandering Bazaar
 will be on that day. With a small bucket of red paint and a large brush,
 he has drawn a Linking Sigil on the ground at the location. He sits
 nearby, making sure careless passersby and mischievous kids don’t
 disturb it, but otherwise letting the sigil absorb the energies of the
 bustle of shopping and commerce.</p>
 <p>At the fish market, Marvelo is posted outside. He keeps vigilant
 watch, alert to every movement and disturbance.</p>
 <p>And inside, Bread, Inky, Fuko, and Alex are huddled up in the office
 in the back near the ceiling. They all sit inside a dark circle that has
 been smudged on the floor with a paste made of ash and salt. Painted on
 the ground is a second Linking Sigil, connecting this spot to
 Confidence’s, allowing the energies of the two locations to co-mingle.
 There is also the Dream Sigil, which will connect this place to the
 Dreaming.</p>
 <p>Bread the Host is propped up on some pillows and cushions in the
 center of the circle, next to the Nyxmaer. The candle is alleged to be
 made of the flesh and fat of a certain nightmare. Its hand and eye bound
 in the wax. The Dream Sigil is the door, but the Nyxmaer is the key. The
 catalyst that will cause all of the otherwise inert metaphysical
 particles to become volatile and reactive. It is what will allow you to
 actually pass over and arrive on the shores of the Sea of Dreams.</p>
 <p>Per the shop witch’s instructions, the Nyxmaer has been placed on a
 thin, hard tin plate. As the candle burns, the wax will soften and
 eventually allow the large metal nail in its side to fall. When it
 strikes the plate, you will awaken, exiting the Dreaming. You expect
 hours may pass in the realm of sleep. But only about thirty minutes will
 pass here.</p>
 <p>Inky and Alex sit inside the circle, near the perimeter, facing Bread
 in the center. Fuko the owl sits at Inky’s side.</p>
 <p>It is dim. You are illuminated by mundane, non-magical candles set
 around the edges of the circle. Outside, a steady rain beats on the roof
 and the windows of the building. The smell of fish is faint but
 ever-present. A constant reminder of the small creatures that have left
 their bodies in a fashion far more permanent and irreversible than the
 separation of spirit and body you are about to experience. You hope.</p>
 <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
 <ul>
 <li><p>How do you induce a deep and powerful slumber in Bread?</p></li>
 <li><p>What shape or form will you take when you arrive in the
 Dreaming?</p></li>
 <li><p>What are you secretly worried or hopeful about being exposed in
 the dreamland, the realm of metaphor?</p></li>
 </ul>
 <h2 id="bestiary">Bestiary</h2>
 <p>Some of the creatures who inhabit the world of Basmentaria</p>
 <dt>
--- a/www/rss.xml
+++ b/www/rss.xml
@ -203,6 +203,488 @@ Agent 5 found the melon vendor dead in a back alley, strangled to death, not imm
        ]]>
      </description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>57</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">57 - Mon, 16 Jan 2023 20:30:44
 -0700</guid>
      <pubDate>Fri, 20 Jan 2023 14:58:46 -0700</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00057">00057</h3>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Alex lifts his teacup and sips the fragrantly tea,
          “perfumed of rosehips, and cardamum? An interesting choice. I
          appreciate it Inky, these past few days have been terribly
          rough, and I’m rather tired of field rations.” Alex takes a
          sip, and then continues hurridly. “I’ve been monitoring the
          Bazar, we are in grave danger. It started with just me, but I
          fear it’s bled over to everyone here at the Milk Market. I
          can’t be entirely certain.”</p>
          <p>Alex looks worriedly at Inky. “There’s a lot going on here.
          As soon as we got back from Kelsun I was sent on an
          assignment, normally not an issue, but they wanted me to level
          3 of the busiest coffee shops in the bazar. I planted those
          bombs, alongside listening devices, and then I bugged out. My
          team appears to have been assigned equally bizarre
          assignments, all rather violent messy things. A lot of
          innocent lives are on the line here.”</p>
          <p>“We dropped off the grid, I’ve got an isolated listening
          post in the sewers here, it’s heavily reinforced and that’s
          where I’ve been hiding out, but I’m not certain it’s safe.
          Agent 5 found a melon vendor dead in the market, and this
          vendor was specifically seeking out the Milk Market, looking
          for us. I believe it may be an assassin, could be from HQ,
          could be from Blavin. It’s entirely opaque to me.”</p>
          <p>“As far as I can tell, my agents are all loyal to me,
          there’s 5 of them in total, 6 if you count me. We could man
          the ship and get the hell out of here in a few hours, and it
          may be our best chance. But there’s the iris letter we need to
          attend to, and I cannot for the life of me find anything, not
          a damn trace, of Blavin. And I think all of this bodes very
          poorly for us.”</p>
          <p>Alex looks worriedly at Inky, and you’re telling me we have
          a ritual we have to perform, to find the iris group’s meeting
          place.. I’m leery Ink, I have to be you see. But my uncle
          trusted you, and I do as well. If you think this is our best
          shot, we can hole up in the sewers and try to perform this
          dream walk of your witch friend’s. But if this iris business
          turns out to be a trap, well, how well can you handle a
          gun?</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>~</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>“Your courage and concern are admirable, Master Alex.
          Caution is likewise advisable.” Inky nods seriously.</p>
          <p>The next moment, they gave the sysorcerer a slightly
          deranged grin. “I’m sure you have already seen many grave
          dangers. What’s another one for the bucket list? What’s life
          if not violent and messy? So many melons dismembered and laid
          waste daily—”</p>
          <p>As if suddenly recalling a detail, Inky pauses and blinks.
          “Melon vendor? Oh, poor Pepo. He has been complaining about
          his neighbour’s boa constrictors for years. The serpents were
          drawn to the rodents his fruits typically attracted, which
          might not have been a problem were it not for them hanging out
          at his stall and scaring off his customers. Maybe he finally
          took matters into his own hands, with tragic results.” They
          look at an empty mixing bowl across the table glumly. “He had
          offered to bring over a few of the new variety as soon as they
          arrived, as he was already delivering to a household the next
          district over.”</p>
          <p>They send Master Alex a sidelong glance. “Someone is after
          you? You didn’t do something horrid like help an old
          grandmother cross the street on sockless skates, for
          instance?” Refilling the sysorcerer’s cup, Inky continues, “As
          for Blavin, only 3 of the crystals have been recovered. Blavin
          knows Team 43 is his best chance of obtaining the others.
          Until he has all the crystals, he will stay his hand. If he
          doesn’t know that, then he is hardly a threat.”</p>
          <p>Setting down the teapot, Inky shrugs. “They seem eager to
          get our attention. I suppose I could spare them their twelve
          minutes of fame, for the right price. Enlightenment would
          probably be too much to ask of a nightmare. If you’d rather
          take your team and make a run for it instead, that’s fine too.
          If they come knocking I’ll just tell them you missed the hotel
          fondue at Kelsun Peak.”</p>
          <p>Their gaze skips to one of the cups before they shake their
          head. “No gun.” They turn around and take down a bamboo
          walking stick hanging from a hook on a wall next to a worn
          coat. Inky grasps the handle and pulls. It slides out quietly
          to reveal a long, thin, tapered surgical steel tube which, if
          someone were to lean in for a closer inspection, is sparsely
          covered in tiny, needle-like protrusions along the surface. On
          the underside, a transparent sliver ran the length of the tube
          to end about a forefinger’s length from the handle. Visible
          through the narrow window is a colourless liquid, most likely
          a sedative or toxin, fills the reinforced steel interior.</p>
          <p>They smile mirthlessly at Master Alex. “I don’t know that
          Master Corraidhín trusted me, because if he did, it would have
          been the most foolhardy thing the wise man has ever done. You
          would do well to not make that mistake.”</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>~</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>“It doesn’t sound like we have all too much of an option”,
          Alex says, as a little Scarab beetle in his pocket chimes,
          “that’ll be the dead man’s trigger going off in my
          hideout.”</p>
          <p>Alex frowns, shame to lose all of that data, those systems,
          that hideout.. but I hope whoever broke in enjoys thermite,
          assuming they don’t asphyxiate quickly enough to miss the
          fun..</p>
          <p>Inky, you’re right, life is a bit violent and messy, so
          lets bring the violent mess to these bastards. If you’ve got a
          lead on this with this dream ritual, then fuck it, lets take
          the risk. I won’t run from this fight, my uncle sure as hell
          wouldn’t. And at worst, he’d go out with a magnificient bang.
          Lets give it back tenfold, for poor Pepo.</p>
          <p>Nodding his own approval Alex continues, I have another
          hideout in the eastern quandrant, near the sysorcerer’s guild.
          It’s a little risky to head out that way, but none of my
          Zabbix alerts indicate it was compromised. It has automated
          IDS and IPS systems, so we should be safe enough in there once
          we whole up. At very least we’ll know if someone comes for us,
          and we’ll have a little bit of time to react on it. We should
          bring the Toques with us, and little blod clot, and the
          duck.</p>
          <p>Looking sorrowfully at Enrique, “I think it might be best
          if you got the hell out of dodge too friend, it isn’t safe,
          and I don’t want to see you become collateral here. Head down
          to the wharf, I’ll have agent 5 meet you there, he’ll help you
          and your family lay low until all of this blows over.”</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>~</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>At Enrique’s deep frown, Inky sighs and adds, “Might as
          well do as Master Alex says. He can spot danger twelve blocks
          away, and turtle soup is really out of fashion these
          days.”</p>
          <p>Then they excuse themselves to pack a few items, returning
          about fifteen minutes later with a knapsack and a cross-strap
          carrier draped in a black cloth cover. Inky says, “I hope you
          don’t mind if I bring along a guest as well.”</p>
          <p>The cover is pulled back to expose a dome-shaped birdhouse,
          with transparent circular rings at the top partially obscured
          by sliding shutters of the same shape. A wooden hoop with a
          woven, web-like pattern and adorned with a string of feathers
          hangs from one side. On the opposite side is a double door
          with a miniature knob over each door. Inky lightly taps on one
          of the doors, and at a low click coming from within in
          response, swings the doors wide enough for the kitchen lamps
          to illuminate the great horned owl resting on a pillow inside.
          The bird opens one amber eye for a moment, gaze sweeping idly
          across the occupants in the room before dozing off again.</p>
          <p>“This is Fuko. She and her twin brother Futa have certain
          shared connections. What one sees, the other will also know. I
          asked their caretaker if I could borrow them for a while. Fuko
          will accompany me for the ritual. Her brother is at another
          location and can send a message if a need arises.” Inky
          explains with a wry expression. “Think of it as a minor
          indulgence of sorts. I was told their kind, along with eagle
          owls, are very good at negotiating with those of the
          ravens.”</p>
          <p>They give the owl a small smile. “She may be a little
          temperamental, but she is well-trained.” Closing the birdhouse
          doors, Inky turns back to Master Alex. “I suppose you’d rather
          not reveal the location of your hideout to any more people
          than necessary. Her carrier will remain covered on the way in
          and out.”</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>Gliftwirp stands under the branches of a tree, pooled in
          shadow, far from the small gathering. He has been to plenty of
          funerals. Often under these very circumstances, in fact. And
          he always keeps his distance out of respect.</p>
          <p>For one, he owns no clothes but his vest, sash, and
          trousers. And his bright red colors would be a sign of
          disrespect among the mourners. Secondly and most importantly,
          he himself is the one who put the man in the ground.</p>
          <p>Sadly, he had little choice. He had underestimated the
          sysorcer. Didn’t realize he had his own agents working for
          him. When he realized that one of the agents had been in
          contact with the melon vendor, he knew that Popplewick could
          and would identify the warpwefter if pressured.</p>
          <p>Gliftwirp had grown to enjoy his daily chats with the melon
          vendor. Popplewick was a kind, determined man. A refugee from
          the Cinderlands, his family came to Vay’Nullar following the
          Artifice Wars when he was just a boy. He grew up poor, and
          often relied on the generosity of others. But eventually he
          was able to support himself and his small family. He was proud
          of the life he had built.</p>
          <p>So Gliftwirp took no pleasure in what came next. Late one
          night when Popplewick was on his way home from the market, the
          assassin slipped a bag over his head and dragged him into a
          dark alley. He cinched the bag tight, cutting off his air.
          There was a brief struggle before Popplewick passed out and
          Gliftwirp lowered him down to the ground. He held him there,
          unconscious and not breathing, until he was gone. In only took
          but a moment. And then Gliftwirp stood up and left.</p>
          <p>Now at the funeral, the mourners leave one by one. Until
          only the widow is left, cradling a small sleeping child to her
          chest. “Oh, Pepo,” she whispers to the headstone. “What can I
          do now?”</p>
          <p>When she leaves, she does not return to the main path. She
          meanders slowly as though in a daze toward the back of the
          graveyard and down the hill. She steps into the wood. A flash
          of red follows her at a distance.</p>
          <p>She kneels on the banks of the forest river and sets the
          child down on wide flat rock. It is awake now and looks up at
          her with solemn eyes. “I am sorry, made-of-me,” she says to
          the child. And that is all the explanation it gets.</p>
          <p>She stands and turns and walks away. The child watches her
          go.</p>
          <p>When she has been gone for some minutes, Gliftwirp steps
          out of the shadows and crouches down beside the child. It
          looks up and reaches for him. “Look at you,” he says to the
          child as he scoops it up. “Who would throw you away? A
          perfectly good baby!” He stands and bounces the child. “A
          sweet little melon rind is what you are. Ha! Very well. Come,
          Rind, we have work to do.”</p>
          <p>The assassin, child in his arms, walks back toward the
          city.</p>
          <p>~</p>
          <p>In the aftermath, Agent 5 is found down by the docks. They
          clearly struggled in death. The assassin blamed him for
          Popplewick’s death and the widow’s weakness.</p>
          <p>Down in the sewers, two tiny mittened hands reach up and
          awkwardly turn the doorknob to Alex’s hideout. The bolt clears
          the latch with a faint click. Two tiny cloth hands struggle
          against the heavy iron door, pushing it slowly open, inch by
          inch. A mechanism clicks inside and there is a whoosh of air
          and then a boom as the bunker violently ignites. The tiny
          figure is incinerated, and blown back into the sewer
          tunnel.</p>
          <p>Gliftwirp steps forward into the light of the blaze and
          crouches down by the tiny figure. He picks it up, a tattered
          and burned bundle of cloth. “Look, Rind,” he says to the small
          child standing at his elbow. “You must always acknowledge and
          be grateful for those who sacrifice for you.” He starts to
          untie and unfold the cloth puppet as he speaks. It unfurls and
          smooths out and stitches itself back together under his touch.
          Even the burn marks fade, and soon Gliftwirp is once again
          holding his red sash.</p>
          <p>“Now, Rind,” he says standing up and taking the child’s
          hand, squinting into the fire. “Let’s see what we can salvage
          here.”</p>
          <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
          <ul>
          <li>The time of the ritual is at hand.</li>
          <li>What final preparations do you make before entering
          Dreamspace?</li>
          </ul>
        ]]>
      </description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>58</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">58 - Sat, 21 Jan 2023 16:24:45
 -0700</guid>
      <pubDate>Sun, 29 Jan 2023 11:02:32 -0700</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00058">00058</h3>
          <blockquote>
          <p><em>(A week prior)</em></p>
          <p>The secretary collected the stack of papers that had
          accumulated at one corner of the desk. “This might help,” she
          said, setting down a bundle of herbs with white and pink
          flowers in place of the papers.</p>
          <p>Inky stared at the blooms, hands stilled over the owl’s
          plumage. “Oh! Thanks. Good thinking, really. It’ll help make
          the stench more bearable when they find the remains.”</p>
          <p>The grey elf was confused for a moment, then mortified as
          the words sank in. “That’s not what I meant! It’s for the
          circle,” she clarified.</p>
          <p>Seeing the imp’s preoccupied nod, she coughed lightly to
          regain their attention, then spoke in a hushed voice.
          “Beaker’s associates have picked up the empanada shop
          proprietor and transported him to an undisclosed location.
          There will be a retinue with him at all times.”</p>
          <p>Inky seemed to visibly pull themselves back to the room
          before responding, “Thank you, Salvia. One more thing — if I
          do not return by the indicated time, please activate the
          hitsuzen protocol. As precaution.”</p>
          <p>The secretary looked at Inky in concern. “Is everything all
          right? If you’re still troubled by the hotelier, accidents
          happen. A single incident—”</p>
          <p>“Third. An unidentified man was attacked at the docks. He
          was probably sent to investigate the melon vendor. One of the
          other stall owners heard him asking questions shortly after
          the melon vendor disappeared.”</p>
          <p>Salvia’s violet eyes narrowed. “What, the fruit vendor?
          Didn’t the tabloids say it was an accident? He tried to get
          rid of a neighbor’s nest of snakes.”</p>
          <p>Inky only raised an eyebrow at her.</p>
          <p>The secretary let out a low curse. “You didn’t tell her.
          You didn’t want her to worry,” she said aloud in realization.
          She sighed. “She’s going to be pretty angry with you when she
          finds out, you know.”</p>
          <p>Inky offered her a sardonic smile. “Making people angry is
          my job. You of all people know this well. In the event of my
          timely demise I’m sure the others would find it cause for a
          grand celebration.” They replied matter-of-factly before
          returning to smoothing the feathers of one bird wing.</p>
          <p>Salvia shook her head vehemently. “That’s not true. You’ll
          make it back, Ink. What then—”</p>
          <p>“Then our fair Lady’s ire would be the least of the
          problems.”</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>~</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Alex stared morosely into his cup of coffee. He’d received
          word of agent 5’s demise that morning, and had been the only
          thing on his mind since. 5, no Be’tram knew the risks, we all
          knew the risks defying HQ brought, but to happen so suddenly?
          He’d snuck down to the wharf once he’d heard, making sure to
          cover his tracks and dodge any potential witnesses. He even
          managed to slip past the police cordon they’d setup around the
          body. What he’d found wasn’t pretty, it looked like Be’Tram
          had suffered in his final moments. The bruising around his
          neck pointed to strangulation, with some sort of cloth,
          perhaps a rope. The bruising was deep, and there wasn’t a cut,
          burn, shot or something of the likes on his otherwise.</p>
          <p>The kill had been intimate.</p>
          <p>Alex had worked quickly that night, popping Be’Tram’s eye
          had been hard, but he’d of wanted Alex to have it. Behind his
          right eye was a recording device, it could only catch the last
          15m or so of what he had seen, but it would give him a clear
          look at what had happened. And potentially lead Alex to the
          killer. Miserable business, but Be’Tram knew it could make a
          difference.</p>
          <p>Alex had planted a bomb on the body after he had extracted
          the eye, and made his way well away from the area before it
          went off obliterating the remains. A regrettable end for an
          old friend, but it was too dangerous to leave.</p>
          <p>And then there was the matter of the zabbix alert, a little
          purple red critical for the sewer hideout. He’d had time to
          send out a drone beetle. The smoldering slag that was left was
          reassuring. Most of the equipment was utterly destroyed, racks
          upon racks of servers reduced to twisted melted metal. The
          effectively of the destruction was delightful, in a sick sort
          of desperate way. Alex felt assured that most if not all of
          the equipment was useless, but this spelled the end of a
          valuable listening outpost. And whoever had done it wasn’t
          part of the slag pile.</p>
          <p>Alex stood up, his coffee untouched. The cafe around his
          burbled in quiet excitement. The city had lit up since the
          Melon vendor’s death. A thousand rumors abounded about it, but
          none of them held true; some said the city had become
          dangerous, a crime syndicate had arisen in the neighboring
          city block another thought, and did you hear about the
          explosion at the wharf the other night, the city was electric,
          yet somehow ever so slightly off the pulse of the issue.</p>
          <p>As Alex stepped away a woman with horn rimmed glasses
          strode past the table he had just abandoned, deftly pulling
          the note from beneath the coffee cup, left for her.</p>
          <pre><code>4 -&gt; 3
 Daylight breaks on the morrow
 The suns rays make chase
 casting soft cloth
 across the nap of nature&#39;s neck
 So, night relents and gives way
 biding time until
 it can rule
 in its own domain</code></pre>
          <p>For the passerby, it was but a bit of poetry, scribbled
          carelessly on the back of a napkin in a coffee near the wharf.
          But for Agent 3 it was a warning, one part notes on Agent 5s
          demise recovered from his eyecam, one part orders; stay low
          and we’ll strike these bastards from the shadows, on our
          terms, on our ground. Similar missives were delivered to
          Agents 6 &amp; 7. The numbers were dwindling rapidly, even
          just one agent lost was hard to stomach.</p>
          <p>Alex hand gripped the pistol in his coat pocket with a
          white knuckled grip as he stepped from the coffee shop into
          the city. Whatever was after him, whatever had gotten to
          Be’Tram, it had better know he was coming, and he’d happily
          send it straight to hell. HQ be damned, the rules be damned,
          this little game of cat and mouse had just gotten
          personal.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>~</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Alex, Inky, Confidence, Bread, and Agent 7 find themselves
          in a dark backroom in a secluded corner of an old fish
          processing plant on the wharf. The accommodations are rough,
          and the stench is abhorrent, but it’s the best that could be
          procured in a pinch. And it should provide enough
          seclusion.</p>
          <p>The backroom is like that of many factories, high up near
          the ceiling, a single rusty rickety staircase winds its way
          along the side of the building for what seems to be 3 flights,
          before it reaches a metal room with dusty grimy windows, and a
          single steel door. The windows on the interior overlook the
          fish processing plant, where rows of belts and machinery stand
          still, covered in dust and long forgotten blood. You’re glad
          to know that the factory stopped operating years ago, hygiene
          is lacking in every sense.</p>
          <p>Alex stares forlornly out the exterior windows, the sky is
          a grey overcast, it matches his mood perfectly. He didn’t like
          what him and Inky were about to do, but they didn’t have much
          they could do about it. They would be vulnerable for the
          duration of the ritual. But Agent 7 and Confidence were there
          to help mitigate that risk. Alex and Agent 7 had taken every
          precaution they could think of.</p>
          <p>The plant floor was scattered with booby traps, trip wires,
          and alarms. The other agents were laying low, but kept drones
          around the wharf feeding in a network of twtxt data back to
          Agent 7 for recon. And that was on top of the double barred
          steel doors, and reinforced glass box they’d chosen as their
          hide out. Meticulously planned, Alex expected no less from
          Agent 7.</p>
          <p>See Marvelo had been at this as long as Alex had, and then
          some. He was sharp as a tack, with an animal-like third sense
          that came from years of close calls. He was, simply put, the
          right man for the job, when that job was keeping your
          unconscious ass alive.</p>
          <p>Alex turns away from the window and addresses Inky.
          “Apologies for the smell, it turns out there’s a strong
          correlation between disgust and seclusion, but I believe we
          should at least be safe here. Safer than we would have been
          back home. I’m ready if you are, as ready as I’ll ever be that
          is.”</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>The Golden Iris have summoned you to appear at the Harpoon
          Club this evening. But the Harpoon Club is nowhere to be found
          on this plane of existence. It won’t appear until a week and a
          half from now, on the last day of the month.</p>
          <p>Confidence the Guide has predicted exactly where the
          Wandering Bazaar will be on that day. With a small bucket of
          red paint and a large brush, he has drawn a Linking Sigil on
          the ground at the location. He sits nearby, making sure
          careless passersby and mischievous kids don’t disturb it, but
          otherwise letting the sigil absorb the energies of the bustle
          of shopping and commerce.</p>
          <p>At the fish market, Marvelo is posted outside. He keeps
          vigilant watch, alert to every movement and disturbance.</p>
          <p>And inside, Bread, Inky, Fuko, and Alex are huddled up in
          the office in the back near the ceiling. They all sit inside a
          dark circle that has been smudged on the floor with a paste
          made of ash and salt. Painted on the ground is a second
          Linking Sigil, connecting this spot to Confidence’s, allowing
          the energies of the two locations to co-mingle. There is also
          the Dream Sigil, which will connect this place to the
          Dreaming.</p>
          <p>Bread the Host is propped up on some pillows and cushions
          in the center of the circle, next to the Nyxmaer. The candle
          is alleged to be made of the flesh and fat of a certain
          nightmare. Its hand and eye bound in the wax. The Dream Sigil
          is the door, but the Nyxmaer is the key. The catalyst that
          will cause all of the otherwise inert metaphysical particles
          to become volatile and reactive. It is what will allow you to
          actually pass over and arrive on the shores of the Sea of
          Dreams.</p>
          <p>Per the shop witch’s instructions, the Nyxmaer has been
          placed on a thin, hard tin plate. As the candle burns, the wax
          will soften and eventually allow the large metal nail in its
          side to fall. When it strikes the plate, you will awaken,
          exiting the Dreaming. You expect hours may pass in the realm
          of sleep. But only about thirty minutes will pass here.</p>
          <p>Inky and Alex sit inside the circle, near the perimeter,
          facing Bread in the center. Fuko the owl sits at Inky’s
          side.</p>
          <p>It is dim. You are illuminated by mundane, non-magical
          candles set around the edges of the circle. Outside, a steady
          rain beats on the roof and the windows of the building. The
          smell of fish is faint but ever-present. A constant reminder
          of the small creatures that have left their bodies in a
          fashion far more permanent and irreversible than the
          separation of spirit and body you are about to experience. You
          hope.</p>
          <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
          <ul>
          <li><p>How do you induce a deep and powerful slumber in
          Bread?</p></li>
          <li><p>What shape or form will you take when you arrive in the
          Dreaming?</p></li>
          <li><p>What are you secretly worried or hopeful about being
          exposed in the dreamland, the realm of metaphor?</p></li>
          </ul>
        ]]>
      </description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>54</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
@ -484,258 +966,6 @@ NOTE GDB INDICATES SOME ANOMALY</code></pre>
        ]]>
      </description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>57</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">57 - Mon, 16 Jan 2023 20:30:44
 -0700</guid>
      <pubDate>Fri, 20 Jan 2023 14:58:46 -0700</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00057">00057</h3>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Alex lifts his teacup and sips the fragrantly tea,
          “perfumed of rosehips, and cardamum? An interesting choice. I
          appreciate it Inky, these past few days have been terribly
          rough, and I’m rather tired of field rations.” Alex takes a
          sip, and then continues hurridly. “I’ve been monitoring the
          Bazar, we are in grave danger. It started with just me, but I
          fear it’s bled over to everyone here at the Milk Market. I
          can’t be entirely certain.”</p>
          <p>Alex looks worriedly at Inky. “There’s a lot going on here.
          As soon as we got back from Kelsun I was sent on an
          assignment, normally not an issue, but they wanted me to level
          3 of the busiest coffee shops in the bazar. I planted those
          bombs, alongside listening devices, and then I bugged out. My
          team appears to have been assigned equally bizarre
          assignments, all rather violent messy things. A lot of
          innocent lives are on the line here.”</p>
          <p>“We dropped off the grid, I’ve got an isolated listening
          post in the sewers here, it’s heavily reinforced and that’s
          where I’ve been hiding out, but I’m not certain it’s safe.
          Agent 5 found a melon vendor dead in the market, and this
          vendor was specifically seeking out the Milk Market, looking
          for us. I believe it may be an assassin, could be from HQ,
          could be from Blavin. It’s entirely opaque to me.”</p>
          <p>“As far as I can tell, my agents are all loyal to me,
          there’s 5 of them in total, 6 if you count me. We could man
          the ship and get the hell out of here in a few hours, and it
          may be our best chance. But there’s the iris letter we need to
          attend to, and I cannot for the life of me find anything, not
          a damn trace, of Blavin. And I think all of this bodes very
          poorly for us.”</p>
          <p>Alex looks worriedly at Inky, and you’re telling me we have
          a ritual we have to perform, to find the iris group’s meeting
          place.. I’m leery Ink, I have to be you see. But my uncle
          trusted you, and I do as well. If you think this is our best
          shot, we can hole up in the sewers and try to perform this
          dream walk of your witch friend’s. But if this iris business
          turns out to be a trap, well, how well can you handle a
          gun?</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>~</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>“Your courage and concern are admirable, Master Alex.
          Caution is likewise advisable.” Inky nods seriously.</p>
          <p>The next moment, they gave the sysorcerer a slightly
          deranged grin. “I’m sure you have already seen many grave
          dangers. What’s another one for the bucket list? What’s life
          if not violent and messy? So many melons dismembered and laid
          waste daily—”</p>
          <p>As if suddenly recalling a detail, Inky pauses and blinks.
          “Melon vendor? Oh, poor Pepo. He has been complaining about
          his neighbour’s boa constrictors for years. The serpents were
          drawn to the rodents his fruits typically attracted, which
          might not have been a problem were it not for them hanging out
          at his stall and scaring off his customers. Maybe he finally
          took matters into his own hands, with tragic results.” They
          look at an empty mixing bowl across the table glumly. “He had
          offered to bring over a few of the new variety as soon as they
          arrived, as he was already delivering to a household the next
          district over.”</p>
          <p>They send Master Alex a sidelong glance. “Someone is after
          you? You didn’t do something horrid like help an old
          grandmother cross the street on sockless skates, for
          instance?” Refilling the sysorcerer’s cup, Inky continues, “As
          for Blavin, only 3 of the crystals have been recovered. Blavin
          knows Team 43 is his best chance of obtaining the others.
          Until he has all the crystals, he will stay his hand. If he
          doesn’t know that, then he is hardly a threat.”</p>
          <p>Setting down the teapot, Inky shrugs. “They seem eager to
          get our attention. I suppose I could spare them their twelve
          minutes of fame, for the right price. Enlightenment would
          probably be too much to ask of a nightmare. If you’d rather
          take your team and make a run for it instead, that’s fine too.
          If they come knocking I’ll just tell them you missed the hotel
          fondue at Kelsun Peak.”</p>
          <p>Their gaze skips to one of the cups before they shake their
          head. “No gun.” They turn around and take down a bamboo
          walking stick hanging from a hook on a wall next to a worn
          coat. Inky grasps the handle and pulls. It slides out quietly
          to reveal a long, thin, tapered surgical steel tube which, if
          someone were to lean in for a closer inspection, is sparsely
          covered in tiny, needle-like protrusions along the surface. On
          the underside, a transparent sliver ran the length of the tube
          to end about a forefinger’s length from the handle. Visible
          through the narrow window is a colourless liquid, most likely
          a sedative or toxin, fills the reinforced steel interior.</p>
          <p>They smile mirthlessly at Master Alex. “I don’t know that
          Master Corraidhín trusted me, because if he did, it would have
          been the most foolhardy thing the wise man has ever done. You
          would do well to not make that mistake.”</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>~</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>“It doesn’t sound like we have all too much of an option”,
          Alex says, as a little Scarab beetle in his pocket chimes,
          “that’ll be the dead man’s trigger going off in my
          hideout.”</p>
          <p>Alex frowns, shame to lose all of that data, those systems,
          that hideout.. but I hope whoever broke in enjoys thermite,
          assuming they don’t asphyxiate quickly enough to miss the
          fun..</p>
          <p>Inky, you’re right, life is a bit violent and messy, so
          lets bring the violent mess to these bastards. If you’ve got a
          lead on this with this dream ritual, then fuck it, lets take
          the risk. I won’t run from this fight, my uncle sure as hell
          wouldn’t. And at worst, he’d go out with a magnificient bang.
          Lets give it back tenfold, for poor Pepo.</p>
          <p>Nodding his own approval Alex continues, I have another
          hideout in the eastern quandrant, near the sysorcerer’s guild.
          It’s a little risky to head out that way, but none of my
          Zabbix alerts indicate it was compromised. It has automated
          IDS and IPS systems, so we should be safe enough in there once
          we whole up. At very least we’ll know if someone comes for us,
          and we’ll have a little bit of time to react on it. We should
          bring the Toques with us, and little blod clot, and the
          duck.</p>
          <p>Looking sorrowfully at Enrique, “I think it might be best
          if you got the hell out of dodge too friend, it isn’t safe,
          and I don’t want to see you become collateral here. Head down
          to the wharf, I’ll have agent 5 meet you there, he’ll help you
          and your family lay low until all of this blows over.”</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>~</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>At Enrique’s deep frown, Inky sighs and adds, “Might as
          well do as Master Alex says. He can spot danger twelve blocks
          away, and turtle soup is really out of fashion these
          days.”</p>
          <p>Then they excuse themselves to pack a few items, returning
          about fifteen minutes later with a knapsack and a cross-strap
          carrier draped in a black cloth cover. Inky says, “I hope you
          don’t mind if I bring along a guest as well.”</p>
          <p>The cover is pulled back to expose a dome-shaped birdhouse,
          with transparent circular rings at the top partially obscured
          by sliding shutters of the same shape. A wooden hoop with a
          woven, web-like pattern and adorned with a string of feathers
          hangs from one side. On the opposite side is a double door
          with a miniature knob over each door. Inky lightly taps on one
          of the doors, and at a low click coming from within in
          response, swings the doors wide enough for the kitchen lamps
          to illuminate the great horned owl resting on a pillow inside.
          The bird opens one amber eye for a moment, gaze sweeping idly
          across the occupants in the room before dozing off again.</p>
          <p>“This is Fuko. She and her twin brother Futa have certain
          shared connections. What one sees, the other will also know. I
          asked their caretaker if I could borrow them for a while. Fuko
          will accompany me for the ritual. Her brother is at another
          location and can send a message if a need arises.” Inky
          explains with a wry expression. “Think of it as a minor
          indulgence of sorts. I was told their kind, along with eagle
          owls, are very good at negotiating with those of the
          ravens.”</p>
          <p>They give the owl a small smile. “She may be a little
          temperamental, but she is well-trained.” Closing the birdhouse
          doors, Inky turns back to Master Alex. “I suppose you’d rather
          not reveal the location of your hideout to any more people
          than necessary. Her carrier will remain covered on the way in
          and out.”</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>Gliftwirp stands under the branches of a tree, pooled in
          shadow, far from the small gathering. He has been to plenty of
          funerals. Often under these very circumstances, in fact. And
          he always keeps his distance out of respect.</p>
          <p>For one, he owns no clothes but his vest, sash, and
          trousers. And his bright red colors would be a sign of
          disrespect among the mourners. Secondly and most importantly,
          he himself is the one who put the man in the ground.</p>
          <p>Sadly, he had little choice. He had underestimated the
          sysorcer. Didn’t realize he had his own agents working for
          him. When he realized that one of the agents had been in
          contact with the melon vendor, he knew that Popplewick could
          and would identify the warpwefter if pressured.</p>
          <p>Gliftwirp had grown to enjoy his daily chats with the melon
          vendor. Popplewick was a kind, determined man. A refugee from
          the Cinderlands, his family came to Vay’Nullar following the
          Artifice Wars when he was just a boy. He grew up poor, and
          often relied on the generosity of others. But eventually he
          was able to support himself and his small family. He was proud
          of the life he had built.</p>
          <p>So Gliftwirp took no pleasure in what came next. Late one
          night when Popplewick was on his way home from the market, the
          assassin slipped a bag over his head and dragged him into a
          dark alley. He cinched the bag tight, cutting off his air.
          There was a brief struggle before Popplewick passed out and
          Gliftwirp lowered him down to the ground. He held him there,
          unconscious and not breathing, until he was gone. In only took
          but a moment. And then Gliftwirp stood up and left.</p>
          <p>Now at the funeral, the mourners leave one by one. Until
          only the widow is left, cradling a small sleeping child to her
          chest. “Oh, Pepo,” she whispers to the headstone. “What can I
          do now?”</p>
          <p>When she leaves, she does not return to the main path. She
          meanders slowly as though in a daze toward the back of the
          graveyard and down the hill. She steps into the wood. A flash
          of red follows her at a distance.</p>
          <p>She kneels on the banks of the forest river and sets the
          child down on wide flat rock. It is awake now and looks up at
          her with solemn eyes. “I am sorry, made-of-me,” she says to
          the child. And that is all the explanation it gets.</p>
          <p>She stands and turns and walks away. The child watches her
          go.</p>
          <p>When she has been gone for some minutes, Gliftwirp steps
          out of the shadows and crouches down beside the child. It
          looks up and reaches for him. “Look at you,” he says to the
          child as he scoops it up. “Who would throw you away? A
          perfectly good baby!” He stands and bounces the child. “A
          sweet little melon rind is what you are. Ha! Very well. Come,
          Rind, we have work to do.”</p>
          <p>The assassin, child in his arms, walks back toward the
          city.</p>
          <p>~</p>
          <p>In the aftermath, Agent 5 is found down by the docks. They
          clearly struggled in death. The assassin blamed him for
          Popplewick’s death and the widow’s weakness.</p>
          <p>Down in the sewers, two tiny mittened hands reach up and
          awkwardly turn the doorknob to Alex’s hideout. The bolt clears
          the latch with a faint click. Two tiny cloth hands struggle
          against the heavy iron door, pushing it slowly open, inch by
          inch. A mechanism clicks inside and there is a whoosh of air
          and then a boom as the bunker violently ignites. The tiny
          figure is incinerated, and blown back into the sewer
          tunnel.</p>
          <p>Gliftwirp steps forward into the light of the blaze and
          crouches down by the tiny figure. He picks it up, a tattered
          and burned bundle of cloth. “Look, Rind,” he says to the small
          child standing at his elbow. “You must always acknowledge and
          be grateful for those who sacrifice for you.” He starts to
          untie and unfold the cloth puppet as he speaks. It unfurls and
          smooths out and stitches itself back together under his touch.
          Even the burn marks fade, and soon Gliftwirp is once again
          holding his red sash.</p>
          <p>“Now, Rind,” he says standing up and taking the child’s
          hand, squinting into the fire. “Let’s see what we can salvage
          here.”</p>
          <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
          <ul>
          <li>The time of the ritual is at hand.</li>
          <li>What final preparations do you make before entering
          Dreamspace?</li>
          </ul>
        ]]>
      </description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>55</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
--- a/www/spoilers.html
+++ b/www/spoilers.html
@ -318,6 +318,7 @@ Master</a></li>
 <li><a href="#00055" id="toc-00055">00055</a></li>
 <li><a href="#00056" id="toc-00056">00056</a></li>
 <li><a href="#00057" id="toc-00057">00057</a></li>
 <li><a href="#00058" id="toc-00058">00058</a></li>
 </ul></li>
 <li><a href="#bestiary" id="toc-bestiary">Bestiary</a></li>
 <li><a href="#geography" id="toc-geography">Geography</a></li>
@ -357,11 +358,11 @@ Teale</a></li>
 </ul>
 </nav>
 <h2 id="stats">Stats</h2>
-<p>Total length: 75661 words / 323 minute read. (Mind you, that’s the
+<p>Total length: 77599 words / 331 minute read. (Mind you, that’s the
 length of this entire page, including all the extra bits and bobs. Not
 just the story.)</p>
-<p>There have been 202 messages posted over 192 days since the first
+<p>There have been 206 messages posted over 200 days since the first
-post on July 13, 2022 for a daily post rate of 1.05.</p>
+post on July 13, 2022 for a daily post rate of 1.03.</p>
 <h2 id="about">About</h2>
 <p>This is a game that me and the kids in the basement are playing over
 email.</p>
@ -6839,6 +6840,202 @@ squinting into the fire. “Let’s see what we can salvage here.”</p>
 <li>The time of the ritual is at hand.</li>
 <li>What final preparations do you make before entering Dreamspace?</li>
 </ul>
 <h3 id="00058">00058</h3>
 <blockquote>
 <p><em>(A week prior)</em></p>
 <p>The secretary collected the stack of papers that had accumulated at
 one corner of the desk. “This might help,” she said, setting down a
 bundle of herbs with white and pink flowers in place of the papers.</p>
 <p>Inky stared at the blooms, hands stilled over the owl’s plumage. “Oh!
 Thanks. Good thinking, really. It’ll help make the stench more bearable
 when they find the remains.”</p>
 <p>The grey elf was confused for a moment, then mortified as the words
 sank in. “That’s not what I meant! It’s for the circle,” she
 clarified.</p>
 <p>Seeing the imp’s preoccupied nod, she coughed lightly to regain their
 attention, then spoke in a hushed voice. “Beaker’s associates have
 picked up the empanada shop proprietor and transported him to an
 undisclosed location. There will be a retinue with him at all
 times.”</p>
 <p>Inky seemed to visibly pull themselves back to the room before
 responding, “Thank you, Salvia. One more thing — if I do not return by
 the indicated time, please activate the hitsuzen protocol. As
 precaution.”</p>
 <p>The secretary looked at Inky in concern. “Is everything all right? If
 you’re still troubled by the hotelier, accidents happen. A single
 incident—”</p>
 <p>“Third. An unidentified man was attacked at the docks. He was
 probably sent to investigate the melon vendor. One of the other stall
 owners heard him asking questions shortly after the melon vendor
 disappeared.”</p>
 <p>Salvia’s violet eyes narrowed. “What, the fruit vendor? Didn’t the
 tabloids say it was an accident? He tried to get rid of a neighbor’s
 nest of snakes.”</p>
 <p>Inky only raised an eyebrow at her.</p>
 <p>The secretary let out a low curse. “You didn’t tell her. You didn’t
 want her to worry,” she said aloud in realization. She sighed. “She’s
 going to be pretty angry with you when she finds out, you know.”</p>
 <p>Inky offered her a sardonic smile. “Making people angry is my job.
 You of all people know this well. In the event of my timely demise I’m
 sure the others would find it cause for a grand celebration.” They
 replied matter-of-factly before returning to smoothing the feathers of
 one bird wing.</p>
 <p>Salvia shook her head vehemently. “That’s not true. You’ll make it
 back, Ink. What then—”</p>
 <p>“Then our fair Lady’s ire would be the least of the problems.”</p>
 </blockquote>
 <p>~</p>
 <blockquote>
 <p>Alex stared morosely into his cup of coffee. He’d received word of
 agent 5’s demise that morning, and had been the only thing on his mind
 since. 5, no Be’tram knew the risks, we all knew the risks defying HQ
 brought, but to happen so suddenly? He’d snuck down to the wharf once
 he’d heard, making sure to cover his tracks and dodge any potential
 witnesses. He even managed to slip past the police cordon they’d setup
 around the body. What he’d found wasn’t pretty, it looked like Be’Tram
 had suffered in his final moments. The bruising around his neck pointed
 to strangulation, with some sort of cloth, perhaps a rope. The bruising
 was deep, and there wasn’t a cut, burn, shot or something of the likes
 on his otherwise.</p>
 <p>The kill had been intimate.</p>
 <p>Alex had worked quickly that night, popping Be’Tram’s eye had been
 hard, but he’d of wanted Alex to have it. Behind his right eye was a
 recording device, it could only catch the last 15m or so of what he had
 seen, but it would give him a clear look at what had happened. And
 potentially lead Alex to the killer. Miserable business, but Be’Tram
 knew it could make a difference.</p>
 <p>Alex had planted a bomb on the body after he had extracted the eye,
 and made his way well away from the area before it went off obliterating
 the remains. A regrettable end for an old friend, but it was too
 dangerous to leave.</p>
 <p>And then there was the matter of the zabbix alert, a little purple
 red critical for the sewer hideout. He’d had time to send out a drone
 beetle. The smoldering slag that was left was reassuring. Most of the
 equipment was utterly destroyed, racks upon racks of servers reduced to
 twisted melted metal. The effectively of the destruction was delightful,
 in a sick sort of desperate way. Alex felt assured that most if not all
 of the equipment was useless, but this spelled the end of a valuable
 listening outpost. And whoever had done it wasn’t part of the slag
 pile.</p>
 <p>Alex stood up, his coffee untouched. The cafe around his burbled in
 quiet excitement. The city had lit up since the Melon vendor’s death. A
 thousand rumors abounded about it, but none of them held true; some said
 the city had become dangerous, a crime syndicate had arisen in the
 neighboring city block another thought, and did you hear about the
 explosion at the wharf the other night, the city was electric, yet
 somehow ever so slightly off the pulse of the issue.</p>
 <p>As Alex stepped away a woman with horn rimmed glasses strode past the
 table he had just abandoned, deftly pulling the note from beneath the
 coffee cup, left for her.</p>
 <pre><code>4 -&gt; 3
 Daylight breaks on the morrow
 The suns rays make chase
 casting soft cloth
 across the nap of nature&#39;s neck
 So, night relents and gives way
 biding time until
 it can rule
 in its own domain</code></pre>
 <p>For the passerby, it was but a bit of poetry, scribbled carelessly on
 the back of a napkin in a coffee near the wharf. But for Agent 3 it was
 a warning, one part notes on Agent 5s demise recovered from his eyecam,
 one part orders; stay low and we’ll strike these bastards from the
 shadows, on our terms, on our ground. Similar missives were delivered to
 Agents 6 &amp; 7. The numbers were dwindling rapidly, even just one
 agent lost was hard to stomach.</p>
 <p>Alex hand gripped the pistol in his coat pocket with a white knuckled
 grip as he stepped from the coffee shop into the city. Whatever was
 after him, whatever had gotten to Be’Tram, it had better know he was
 coming, and he’d happily send it straight to hell. HQ be damned, the
 rules be damned, this little game of cat and mouse had just gotten
 personal.</p>
 </blockquote>
 <p>~</p>
 <blockquote>
 <p>Alex, Inky, Confidence, Bread, and Agent 7 find themselves in a dark
 backroom in a secluded corner of an old fish processing plant on the
 wharf. The accommodations are rough, and the stench is abhorrent, but
 it’s the best that could be procured in a pinch. And it should provide
 enough seclusion.</p>
 <p>The backroom is like that of many factories, high up near the
 ceiling, a single rusty rickety staircase winds its way along the side
 of the building for what seems to be 3 flights, before it reaches a
 metal room with dusty grimy windows, and a single steel door. The
 windows on the interior overlook the fish processing plant, where rows
 of belts and machinery stand still, covered in dust and long forgotten
 blood. You’re glad to know that the factory stopped operating years ago,
 hygiene is lacking in every sense.</p>
 <p>Alex stares forlornly out the exterior windows, the sky is a grey
 overcast, it matches his mood perfectly. He didn’t like what him and
 Inky were about to do, but they didn’t have much they could do about it.
 They would be vulnerable for the duration of the ritual. But Agent 7 and
 Confidence were there to help mitigate that risk. Alex and Agent 7 had
 taken every precaution they could think of.</p>
 <p>The plant floor was scattered with booby traps, trip wires, and
 alarms. The other agents were laying low, but kept drones around the
 wharf feeding in a network of twtxt data back to Agent 7 for recon. And
 that was on top of the double barred steel doors, and reinforced glass
 box they’d chosen as their hide out. Meticulously planned, Alex expected
 no less from Agent 7.</p>
 <p>See Marvelo had been at this as long as Alex had, and then some. He
 was sharp as a tack, with an animal-like third sense that came from
 years of close calls. He was, simply put, the right man for the job,
 when that job was keeping your unconscious ass alive.</p>
 <p>Alex turns away from the window and addresses Inky. “Apologies for
 the smell, it turns out there’s a strong correlation between disgust and
 seclusion, but I believe we should at least be safe here. Safer than we
 would have been back home. I’m ready if you are, as ready as I’ll ever
 be that is.”</p>
 </blockquote>
 <p>The Golden Iris have summoned you to appear at the Harpoon Club this
 evening. But the Harpoon Club is nowhere to be found on this plane of
 existence. It won’t appear until a week and a half from now, on the last
 day of the month.</p>
 <p>Confidence the Guide has predicted exactly where the Wandering Bazaar
 will be on that day. With a small bucket of red paint and a large brush,
 he has drawn a Linking Sigil on the ground at the location. He sits
 nearby, making sure careless passersby and mischievous kids don’t
 disturb it, but otherwise letting the sigil absorb the energies of the
 bustle of shopping and commerce.</p>
 <p>At the fish market, Marvelo is posted outside. He keeps vigilant
 watch, alert to every movement and disturbance.</p>
 <p>And inside, Bread, Inky, Fuko, and Alex are huddled up in the office
 in the back near the ceiling. They all sit inside a dark circle that has
 been smudged on the floor with a paste made of ash and salt. Painted on
 the ground is a second Linking Sigil, connecting this spot to
 Confidence’s, allowing the energies of the two locations to co-mingle.
 There is also the Dream Sigil, which will connect this place to the
 Dreaming.</p>
 <p>Bread the Host is propped up on some pillows and cushions in the
 center of the circle, next to the Nyxmaer. The candle is alleged to be
 made of the flesh and fat of a certain nightmare. Its hand and eye bound
 in the wax. The Dream Sigil is the door, but the Nyxmaer is the key. The
 catalyst that will cause all of the otherwise inert metaphysical
 particles to become volatile and reactive. It is what will allow you to
 actually pass over and arrive on the shores of the Sea of Dreams.</p>
 <p>Per the shop witch’s instructions, the Nyxmaer has been placed on a
 thin, hard tin plate. As the candle burns, the wax will soften and
 eventually allow the large metal nail in its side to fall. When it
 strikes the plate, you will awaken, exiting the Dreaming. You expect
 hours may pass in the realm of sleep. But only about thirty minutes will
 pass here.</p>
 <p>Inky and Alex sit inside the circle, near the perimeter, facing Bread
 in the center. Fuko the owl sits at Inky’s side.</p>
 <p>It is dim. You are illuminated by mundane, non-magical candles set
 around the edges of the circle. Outside, a steady rain beats on the roof
 and the windows of the building. The smell of fish is faint but
 ever-present. A constant reminder of the small creatures that have left
 their bodies in a fashion far more permanent and irreversible than the
 separation of spirit and body you are about to experience. You hope.</p>
 <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
 <ul>
 <li><p>How do you induce a deep and powerful slumber in Bread?</p></li>
 <li><p>What shape or form will you take when you arrive in the
 Dreaming?</p></li>
 <li><p>What are you secretly worried or hopeful about being exposed in
 the dreamland, the realm of metaphor?</p></li>
 </ul>
 <h2 id="bestiary">Bestiary</h2>
 <p>Some of the creatures who inhabit the world of Basmentaria</p>
 <dt>
@ -7236,7 +7433,8 @@ embers.</p>
 </summary>
 <p><strong>THREADS</strong></p>
 <ul>
-<li>scissormen, huskies, dreamforms, gliftwirp the warpwefter</li>
+<li>scissormen, huskies, dreamforms, gliftwirp the warpwefter,
 Ephermeris</li>
 <li>Lady in Red ??? Tess, Piskin, Salvia ; Beaker (and Cio) trailing the
 BANDits?</li>
 <li>Benefactor wants Crystals to kill a god</li>